The Husband Hunt

by Jillian Hunter

  He couldn't even imagine her reaction. Tears of joy, a tantrum? Whatever, her response would involve more emotional turmoil than he could face tonight. He—

  He sat up as the woods surrounding the estate began to throb with the unholy hooting of owls. He was so distracted he did not even notice that Catriona had reached her room, nor did he hear the tell-tale squeaking of Olivia's door, as his sister peered out into the hall.

  ******************

  Olivia closed the door and began to pace in the dark, talking to the spirit of her dead husband as was her habit when she was depressed. "Look at her, sneaking back upstairs from heaven only knows what escapade again. Hasn't the girl had enough misadventure for one night? For a lifetime? Well, what would you do with her? She's your flesh and blood. Oh, I know, Lionel. You would have made a joke of it, said the right thing, and turned the whole disaster into a triumph."

  She dropped down onto the bed in a dispirited heap. "I love her none the less for her flaws. Isn't that what you always said? One must accept the good with the bad where family is concerned. But, Lionel, what she needs is a husband, and the sooner the better."

  Somewhere outside, an owl hooted. Olivia glanced at the window. "Does that mean you disagree? Well, if so, you had best come right out and tell me what to do. If you have the perfect bridegroom in mind, I should very much appreciate your bringing him to my attention. After Knight's show of indignation tonight, poor Alistair is unlikely ever to show his face in public again, let alone ask for her hand. Still, I suppose all hope is not dead. She did vindicate herself in the end."

  Chapter 16

  The hour of reckoning had come. There was no way that Knight could sit at the table the next morning with Olivia and Marigold without sharing the good news. Fortunately, the two women appeared to be in a jovial mood. Far too jovial, he realized suspiciously, as he sat down to his usual breakfast of coffee, buttered toast, and the newspaper that Aubrey had ironed for him. One didn't need Catriona's powers of prophecy to foretell that the pair of them were brewing up trouble in their tea cups.

  Where is Catriona?" he asked as he waited for Smythe to finish pouring the coffee.

  Olivia gave him such a bright smile that he blinked. "The little princess is sleeping in late after all the excitement."

  "The little princess?" he said, a triangle of toast halfway to his mouth.

  "What an evening," Marigold exclaimed. She dropped an enormous spoonful of clotted cream onto her currant scone. "I shall never forget it."

  "I doubt that anyone will," Knight muttered, picking up the newspaper. Had they guessed? Had they been eavesdropping last night? Their amiability was simply too, well, too abnormal to believe. He pretended to read the latest report on businesses that had recently gone bankrupt.

  "You look a little tired yourself this morning," Olivia said in such a sweet voice that he began to wonder if another spirit had taken possession of her body. "Mrs. Evans suggested you bathe your knuckles in witch hazel and comfrey to reduce the bruising. That was quite a blow you dealt Alistair last night."

  "My knuckles are fine," he said. "In fact—"

  He broke off at the sound of hoofbeats in the driveway, followed by the persistent banging of the brass knocker on the door. "Who the blazes is calling at this hour?"

  Marigold grinned at him over her tea cup. "Probably another visitor for our sleeping heroine."

  "I hope whoever it is hasn't brought more flowers." Olivia glanced around at the salver on the sideboard, upon which sat a collection of nosegays and calling cards. Everything had changed overnight, she

  thought in delight. Suddenly, Cat had suitors. Had Olivia's plea to Lionel worked? "You should see the drawing room. It looks like Papa's old hothouse. Oh, Knight, do you remember the year he grew an

  orange, and it was so sour, but we all pretended to enjoy it because no one could bear to hurt his feelings?"

  "I'm going to marry her," he said.

  "You ought to put those violets in water, Olivia," Marigold said. "They're starting to wilt. Nothing sadder than a drooping posy."

  Olivia sighed, folding her hands under her chin. "Alistair sent her white roses. I think he grew them himself. They have the most delicious fragrance. I almost laid them outside her door so that she would see them first thing—"

  "I want to marry her." Knight raised his voice, refusing to be ignored.

  There was dead silence at the table. Smythe threw him a startled look before reassuming his usual bland expression. Aunt Marigold swallowed her bite of scone, at a loss for words. Olivia slowly unfolded her fingers and leaned forward.

  "Catriona?"

  "No, Olivia, the housekeeper." He frowned at her. "Who else but Catriona?"

  "No." She shook her head, rising from her chair. "No. Absolutely not."

  "What do you mean, no? You are not her mother, and she isn't a minor.”

  "No, Knight. I want a stable husband for her." She came up beside him. "I do not know exactly how to tell you this—it's the most noble thing in the world for you to offer her marriage. But you aren't the man for her. She is sweet and vivacious. You are—"

  "—jaded and intense," Aunt Marigold said, finding her voice.

  Knight's frown deepened. "Do you think that I would mistreat her?"

  "You are not even aware of the hearts you have broken," Olivia said ruefully. "Oh, Knight, so many girls have cried on my shoulder over you."

  "Well, I never hurt any of them on purpose."

  "Exactly," she said. "I know why you are doing this."

  "Do you?"

  She nodded, touching his arm. "To save me. You are actually willing to sacrifice your bachelorhood for me. I am deeply touched."

  He shrugged off her hand. "Apparently, in the head. And marrying Catriona has nothing to do with you. She accepted my proposal last night after the party."

  "Did you compromise her?" Aunt Marigold demanded.

  "Kindly mind your own business," he said.

  Olivia pursed her lips. "When I suggested that you and Catriona become friends, a seduction was the farthest thing from my mind."

  "This is just not the cheese, young sir," Aunt Marigold said, in high dudgeon from being told off. "In my day, a man knew when to keep his tallywag in his trousers."

  Knight arched his brow. "Where my 'tallywag' does or does not wander is not a subject I care to discuss with my best friend's aging aunt."

  "It is not a subject I care to discuss at all," Olivia said in distress. "But, oh, you haven't disgraced her, have you? I shall die on the spot if you say you have. It will spoil everything."

  "I think it will solve a great deal," he said impatiently. "You wanted a husband for her. You have one."

  "More than one, as it turns out," Marigold said with a sly chuckle.

  Knight shot her a look. "What?"

  Olivia picked up the nosegay of violets. "Reggie's father came this morning asking permission for his son to marry her. Of course, I put him off. Reggie was a last resort at best. I thought we could take our chances at another party or two before giving him an answer."

  Knight got up from the table. "What do you mean by 'more than one,' Marigold?"

  "Sir Alistair." The woman took such a long sip of tea that Knight was tempted to give her artificial ringlets a good yank. "He sent three dozen white roses and a formal marriage proposal, along with an apology for his misbehavior last night." She gave Knight a pointed look. "Some men know when to ask forgiveness for their rudeness."

  "That isn't all he's asking for," Knight said, his tone ominous. "I should have killed the old buzzard when I had the chance."

  Olivia's face went white. "Don't you dare start that nonsense again. He's hardly old, he only has five years on you, and he grew the white roses himself. Isn't that romantic?"

  "I am all atwitter with admiration," Knight said stonily.

  "Well, atwitter or not," Olivia said, "you cannot marry Lionel's cousin. You have been her unofficial guardian—what would people think?"
/>
  He shrugged. "I don't particularly care. Lord Newbury married his parlor maid. I haven't seen anyone snub her at church."

  "You never go to church." Olivia gave him a wan smile. "I do understand why you're doing this."

  "I doubt it."

  "You're doing it for Lionel," she said gently. "Because you came home and he didn't. But don't you realize that he wouldn't have wanted it any other way? That was the kind of silly fool my husband was."

  He turned to the window. "People do not discuss this sort of thing, Olivia."

  "Then perhaps they should," Aunt Marigold said, straightening her wig.

  He looked at her over his shoulder. "You think it's perfectly fine to discuss tallywags at the table. I tell you, I don't hear such low talk at my club."

  "Oh, ho. Since when did you become the prude—"

  The three of them glanced around at the hesitant figure in the doorway. "Is it safe to show my face, or am I still exiled in scandal?" Catriona asked softly. She glanced at the posies on the sideboard as she took her place at the table. "Where did all those come from?"

  Her gaze lifted to Knight. He gave her a small, private smile. She smiled back, her expression asking, Did you tell them about us? He nodded. She glanced around the table, biting her lip. Heaven above, but Olivia and Aunt Marigold looked like a pair of mean tabbies chasing away a tomcat. Why in the world weren't they as delighted as she about the impending nuptials? Wasn't this what everyone had wanted?

  "I'm starving," she said, sighing at the raw desire in Knight's eyes. She felt a blush heat the nape of her neck. If he didn't stop looking at her like that, the other two women were going to know they were wildly attracted to each—oh, what did it matter now, anyway?

  "The flowers are from your suitors," Olivia announced with such enthusiasm that Smythe almost dropped his towel. "Did you hear me, Catriona? I said suitors."

  Knight frowned at her. "I think the entire household heard you, woman."

  Olivia placed her hands on Cat's shoulders, the gesture overtly protective. "I don't think you understood me, Catriona. Both Reggie and Sir Alistair have expressed an interest in marrying you."

  Catriona smiled at Knight. He looked so outraged at the mention of the two other men that she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and smother him in kisses. When she'd awakened that morning, she had been in such a wonderful mood she could hardly contain her happiness. All vestiges of the previous evening's vision had disappeared into the mists of her memory. Gone. The only thing she could think of was marrying him, of the happy future ahead.

  Olivia gave her a little shake. "Did you hear me?"

  Catriona started. "Excuse me. I must have been woolgathering. Did you say something?"

  "I most certainly did," Olivia said.

  Knight was grinning now, too. The pair of them were behaving like two adolescents in the throes of their first infatuation. If the matter had not held such dire consequences for Catriona's future, Olivia might have been amused. It wasn't that she didn't adore her brother, but he wasn't meant for someone as inexperienced as Catriona, who clearly worshipped the ground he stalked upon. Not for nothing had Knight earned that rakehell reputation, and Olivia took it as her duty to protect Lionel's cousin from heartbreak even if it meant offending his best friend. Anyway, Sir Alistair was too perfect a match to pass up—wealthy, stable, a neighbor, which meant that Olivia could dote on their children, and he was obviously a man who knew what he wanted, with the maturity to indulge a younger wife.

  "Sir Alistair sent you three dozen white roses," she said meaningfully.

  Catriona giggled in reaction to Knight's black scowl of disapproval. "Whatever for?"

  "Why do you think?" Olivia said in astonishment. "The man is courting you. You obviously made quite a good impression."

  "I don't see how," Catriona said, holding in another giggle.

  "Neither do I," Aunt Marigold added in a forthright manner. "Unless it was the dowry Knight so generously offered to sweeten the deal."

  "The dowry that I—"

  Olivia interrupted him. "If Lionel were alive, he would certainly contribute to the marriage portion."

  "Oh, for God's sake," he said. "Stop bringing Lionel's name into the conversation. And I never offered to do any such thing, Olivia."

  "Well, you should have."

  "She doesn't need a dowry." He winked at Catriona. "Especially if I have to pay it to myself."

  Howard appeared at the door, wearing a freshly pressed jacket. Recovered from last night's fright, he was ready to accept accolades for the part he had played in saving Lady Bennett. "Excuse me," he said, "but Miss Grant has just received a gift of a half-dozen gooseberry pies. Mrs. Evans would like to know if she should serve them up now or wait until luncheon."

  "I don't care about pies right now," Olivia said in exasperation. "Tell her to give some to the staff if she likes."

  Knight snorted. "What sort of suitor proposes with a gooseberry pie?"

  Marigold glanced at him. "I'd have to agree with you on that point. It does give the brain a jolt to picture Alistair in an apron."

  "Oh, the pies did not come from Sir Alistair," Howard said quickly. "Lady Bennett's housekeeper sent them over as a thank-you to Miss Grant."

  "In that case," Knight said, "I shall have a piece. In honor of our Miss Grant." He moved to the chair directly opposite her, not caring what anyone thought. "Did I tell you how uncommonly beautiful you are, Miss Grant? And by the way, I thought about you all night long. You almost had a late-night visitor."

  "Oh, honestly, Knight," Olivia said, scandalized to her toenails. "Behave yourself in front of the servants."

  Howard's eyes widened. "It's quite all right, ma'am."

  "It is not all right—" She gasped in horror as Knight reached across the table to take Catriona's hand. "There will be no touching at the breakfast table!"

  His eyes narrowed as Catriona's fingers curled into his palm. Reprobate that he was, he could too vividly imagine her delicate touch on other parts of his body. No way was he waiting for the honeymoon, not with those other men drawn like drones to her sweetness.

  "Are you engaged for the evening, Miss Grant?" he asked in a seductive undertone.

  Her teeth caught the edge of her lower lip. It was an unconsciously sensual gesture that forced him to swallow a groan of sheer frustration. "I don't believe I am, actually."

  "Here.” Desperate to dampen the growing heat between the two of them, Olivia brought the salver to the table and placed it, with flowers and notes, right under Catriona's nose. "If you have so much spare time on your hands, you might begin by acknowledging these. Howard, stop gaping, and fetch her some writing materials."

  Before Howard could obey, a clatter of hoofbeats came from outside the house as a curricle parked in the drive. Moments later, a gig arrived bearing Baron Frampton and Arabella. More carriage wheels rumbled in the distance over the stone bridge to the estate.

  "My goodness," Olivia exclaimed, "we have guests. I'm sure I didn't invite them. Did you, Marigold?"

  Aunt Marigold put down her cup. "At this hour of the morning? I most certainly did not. I shall have to change my wig. I expect they've come to see Catriona. What you and I perceived last night as a scandal has obviously converted itself into a success."

  Knight drew his hand away from Catriona's, a wry expression on his face. "Then I expect they'll have to settle for me. Miss Grant is not receiving callers today."

  ******************

  Catriona sat alone at the table, her face as white as a snowdrop at the commotion in the entrance lobby. It took several moments for her to realize what was happening. She could have told Knight that there was no reason for him to be jealous, if she had managed to gather her own stunned wits. The crowd of people on his front steps had not come to ask her hand in marriage or to befriend her. They had come to seek supernatural help. Why had she thought the English aristocracy would be any different from the Scots when it came to wondering what the
future held?

  She eyed the closed door beside the fireplace. It led into a passageway around the house to the servants' hall, a possible means of escape if the need arose.

  "Psst. Miss Grant."

  Smythe, standing motionless at the sideboard, suddenly came to life. Oh, no, she thought. She recognized that eager look in his eye. It boded ill.

  He scooted around the table on the pretense of refilling her cup. She knew exactly what he was about to ask of her. She didn't need mystical help to predict this unfortunate part of human nature. How could she have forgotten? In the excitement of the previous evening, she had managed to ignore what invariably followed in the aftermath of one of her visions, the human curiosity, the desire to use Catriona's foresight to satisfy personal needs.

  Glancing out into the hall, Smythe said quietly, "Miss Grant, I know it is an imposition, but as you have shown yourself to be the heart of kindness, I was wondering if you could use your powers—"

  She covered her face with her hands, peeping at him through her fingers as he continued.

  "—to help me make a decision. I've taken all my savings to place a bet on the races, and I was wondering if you might advise me on which horse is liable to win."

  ******************

  By mid-afternoon her reputation as a soothsayer had spread to the outer fringes of West Briarcombe. The village chandler sent her a box of beeswax candles with a written plea for a personal interview on the matter of his only son, missing at sea. Lord Beckwith wanted to know if he should invest in tea caddies. Another letter arrived from a "Sir Somebody" asking that Catriona put her powers to work to determine if the child his young wife carried was the product of an adulterous affair.

  If the child was his, Catriona was instructed to wave a white sheet from her window at nine o'clock the next morning. In the unhappy event that "Sir S" had not sired the thing, any red article of clothing could be used to convey the bad news.